“Nay. When he has in his basket all the fish that swim in the river—when he——”
“Dick Sheridan,” whispered the actress, going close to him and putting her face closer still,—“Dick Sheridan, I will let Tom Linley go down the stream if you will take his place.”
He started back and felt himself flushing all over—the woman had revealed herself; and she too was flushing through the force of her revelation.
They stood there looking at each other, separated by only a few feet. Some moments had passed before he said:
“Ah, you were born a coquette! Dangerous—you were born dangerous, you beautiful creature! You would lure me on to make a fool of myself. Nay, seriously, my dear madam——”
He did not act the part very well; she could have given him a lesson as to the exact inflection of the phrases. But just then she was not inclined to be a severe critic.
“Dick,” she whispered, with tremulous tenderness, “is it so hard for you to love me—to love me a little—not as I love you, Dick—I don’t expect so much as that—you are only a man, but still——”
“Stop! for Heaven’s sake, stop! Ah, you do not know what you say—you do not know what you ask!” he said.
“Alas! I know it but too well,” she said, her voice broken by sobs. “Dick, dear Dick, I can be a good woman for your sake. I know that I am older than you by some years—oh, what do the years matter when the heart has not grown old? Dick, there is not a grey hair in my heart. I have been vain, I know; I have loved seeing men make fools of themselves, but none of them all has ever made a fool of me. No, don’t tell me that I am making a fool of myself before you now! I am not—I am not!”